


And Eat It Too

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dream Bubbles, Dream Sex, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Control, Oral Sex, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4243200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meulin wrapped her lips around his throat and felt the vibrations rattling inside, secreted away where she couldn’t get at them. She nipped at the flesh. His vocal chords strummed like harp strings.</p><p>Before all this happened his voice was deep, dark chocolate sealed in purple tin foil. When they pailed, or made out, he pressed his lips to her ear and spoke to her about nothing in particular. Just poured words into her like his slurry. Meulin nibbled him if his monologue paused for even a moment, to gasp or sigh or moan. No. She craved his voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Eat It Too

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laylah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/gifts).



Meulin blinked the haze away from her eyes. The dream bubble came into focus.

Kurloz grinned down at her with a blank smile, standing amidst of a version of her old respiteblock still infested with plush toys, troll manga, and volumes of her journals that she threw out when she was eight. Two pink moons floated outside the window.

Meulin knew this memory. She remembered the night he came to her, almost a week after their “incident”.

Kurloz tested the fresh stitches binding his mouth shut. His grin turned sheepish. When his empty, white ghost eyes glanced away from her, she reached out. Despite his hesitation she caught his cheek in her palm. Her kiss brushed over his threads. He mumbled something no one would ever hear.

Meulin wrapped her lips around his throat and felt the vibrations rattling inside, secreted away where she couldn’t get at them. She nipped at the flesh. His vocal chords strummed like harp strings.

Before all this happened his voice was deep, dark chocolate sealed in purple tin foil. When they pailed, or made out, he pressed his lips to her ear and spoke to her about nothing in particular. Just poured words into her like his slurry. Meulin nibbled him if his monologue paused for even a moment, to gasp or sigh or moan. No. She craved his voice.

Not more than a week before he sewed his mouth shut, he tucked her body into his, fingers tickling over the coils of her bulge. “I’m running out of shit to say,” he whispered.

She ground the curve of her behind into his groin. He squirmed against her. “No, not you, Purrloz. Not our chatty Makara. I cat not believe for a second you’ve got nothing to say. Tell me anything. Recite your favorite verses about the messiahs. Sing lines from your favorite songs.”

He palmed the swell of her rumblesphere. She mewled as he murmured a tune under his breath, some troll Marilyn Manson cover. “… _’cuz I’m yours, yours, yours anyhow_ …”

But this Kurloz in this memory—like so many other Kurlozs before him—just strained a vague smile against the thread lacing his lips and combed his gloved hand through her hair.

Meulin traced her tongue over the stitches. When the tip nudged its way between the thin gap of his lips, he jerked back. He shook his head. _Don’t._

She paused, fingers squeezing his shoulders. They studied each other. Meulin put on a cautious smile and purred. Kurloz tilted his head. He returned the purr but made no move to slip back into her embrace.

Meulin took a step forward and leaned up on her tiptoes. He lowered his head to meet her. Their lips brushed. Meulin found that soft skin corded off behind fraying thread, and again, she nipped at his mouth. Kurloz snarled. He shoved her away.

Purple flashed in his eyes. _Stop_. His voice boomed in her mind, filling her with every prick of fear and discomfort behind that ‘stop’. Meulin felt hands recoiling from the stovetop, electrical shocks, yellow tape that read _caution: do not cross_ , S. T. O. P. Colors bled into one another, bleeding into her against her will.

Meulin’s breath came in short gasps.

Fingers sank into her brain, digging into her tender grey matter.

 _Stop_.

She froze. From deep in her gut, there came a rumbling. Beneath her ribcage tectonic plates shifted to uncover an ancient pocket bricked up and muted with three tons of sand, a burial carried out millennia ago. Like stone grating against stone, Meulin’s insides ground together. A crack broke open and out gurgled a growl composite of every molecule of fury she’d ever wrapped up and stowed away.

Her hands shot out, almost striking his face, and she signed like she was furious with the air in front of her. _What’s wrong with you?_

_I could ask you the same motherfucking question._

Meulin’s fingers curled. _I just want to kiss you_.

 _Kiss me at your motherfucking whim, my sister. I am yours to kiss. But this right now, what you’re trying to do to me ain’t kissing_ , he signed, flicking his wrist as if to backhand her.

Meulin’s eyes burned. “Fine, I’ll stop. I guess I won’t kiss you anymore.”

She shuddered, trying to force a smile. Kurloz tilted his head, the purple light behind his eyes fading. He shifted from one foot to the other. Awkwardly, he raised his hands, offering up a hug with a blank look in his eyes.

“No, no, I’m okay. No worries… uh, no purries here.” A choked giggle made its way out of Meulin’s throat. “Let’s just keep going.”

Kurloz’s brows furrowed. Dropping his arms to his sides, he stepped away from her. Meulin’s vision blurred, but when she wiped her face with her sleeve, it wasn’t tears smudging the world. The memory dissolved around her.

Kurloz faded like smoke while the rest of Meulin’s room reordered itself. Her plushies grew until they loomed over her, molding into the shapes of purple-blooded martyrs and hardening into marble.

Her pailing platform warped into a throne of black stone. A troll bigger than any Meulin had ever met in life sat beneath a mural of blood-stained messiahs dancing across the wall.

She cleared her throat. A room such as that would echo, amplifying her every nervous movement if she could hear them. Meulin braved a step toward him. The Grand Highblood stared, impassive as the stone where he lounged.

Gone were the shorts. Gone were the boots. Gone were the empty white eyes and the scent of charred flesh that mingled in his skin long after his death. This Kurloz wore paramilitary blacks with bones sewn into the fabric. He towered over the ancient hall.

“Hello again, little olive traveller. On yet another pilgrimage to my corner of the multiverse, I see?”

She blinked. “Didn’t you bring me here?”

“Hm? Did I?” A brief light flashed across his eyes, purple as the trim on his uniform. “This old mind of mine is weakening with this dreary eternity, but I could’ve sworn it was you who summoned yourself to my memory. And how blessed I am that you did. It’s been awhile since you visited.”

“Yeah,” Meulin massaged her temple. A fog settled over the last twenty minutes. “Now that you mention it… I think I did want to see you.”

He scoffed. “Another version of me giving you grief? That Beforus whelp?”

Meulin blushed. “I think I accidentally pawndered into an old memory. A memory of a fight we had. He, uh… his mouth… I couldn’t kiss him and I got furrustrated. So I snapped at him. I’m having trouble remembering…”

“Fuck him. Sounds like he’s more trouble than he’s worth. Dumbass kid, cutting himself off from faygo-sweet pleasure and denying you all that wicked tenderness.”

“Well, I mean, he’s not so bad. He’s just a little silly sometimes and it’s hard to understand him.” Meulin shrugged and smoothed out her skirt.

“You want to jam with me about it?”

Meulin scuffed her toe on the marble floors. “No, I just want to see you.”

He chuckled. “See me? Knowing you, you’ll do more than see me.” He raised his hands and signed, _your hair is real wild tonight, sister. Looks good._

Meulin blushed. She fluffed the ends. _Thanks! I washed it for the first time in furever._

_What’s the occasion?_

_Just felt like it._

_You got all squeaky clean and smelling lovely just for the hell of it?_ This big Kurloz leaned in and sniffed her neck. _That’s perfume, is it not, sister? Or do you just produce a natural sweetness?_

“Purrfume?” Meulin’s blush worked up to her ears. _What are you impurrlying, Mr. Makara?_

_Maybe your plans for me are not so innocuous. There are machinations in your pan; I see the cogs rolling in your eyes. Is my innocence at stake? Am I at your mercy, O seductress?_

Giggling, Meulin shivered. “Seductress? Me?”

Kurloz batted his eyes. Meulin laughed and pounced up into his lap. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him forward.

How much of him was dead and ossified? She put her fingers to his cheeks. He was cold. She kissed his lips. He sat there like an enchanted corpse in a glass coffin, empty and beautiful. She put her palm to his ribs, half-expecting to find the rhythm of bone clacking against bone in place of a heartbeat.

A smile flickered at the corner of his lips. He pulled her close. Kissing Kurloz was nothing but soft. In all other things he was capable of being a brute, but when it came to mouth-to-mouth he drew it out slow and gentle.

Meulin preferred a little brutishness, to be honest.

“Let me sit in your lap,” she purred against his cheek.

Eyes bright and his scent delicious with arousal, he gazed down at her. Slowly, Meulin slipped her underwear off her legs. She toed her shoes off for comfort’s sake while she wriggled out of her shirt. Moisture slicked the inside of her thighs. Long fingers closed around her wrists to drag her near. Kurloz nuzzled a kiss between her rumble spheres, bulge tenting his pants, as he unclasped her brassiere with one hand.

Trills filled Meulin’s throat. She opened her mouth to speak but gave only delighted chirps. Kurloz answered with a purr so soft it was almost inaudible. The gloves slid from his hands. Bare fingers, cool and soft, skittered up the backs of her thighs to palm the curve of her rear. He rolled over her nook, caressing the lips.

With Meulin cradled against him, he leaned back in the chair until his eyes found the ceiling. She nuzzled his collarbone. Her world reduced to his lazy fingers petting her folds and the thump of his heart against her ear.

He hummed. His breath rustled her hair. A purr rolled behind her ribs. He matched her as she wriggled against his unsheathing bulge.

Kurloz chuckled before lifting her off his lap onto his shoulders. Meulin squealed and laughed and wrapped her fingers around his horns.

Her bulge swirled over his lips, leaving streaks of green in his paint. With the tip of his tongue, he teased her at the patch of tissue where her base met her nook’s opening.

“Oh,” she gasped. “That’s good, that’s _purrfect_.”

Growling, he devoured her.

All at once, Meulin’s muscles turned weak. She fell forward, resting her cheek against one of his horns while his tongue delved deep into her entrance. His drool, mixed with her fluids, dribbled down his chin. More of it stained the insides of Meulin’s legs.

A purr gurgled in the back of her throat. Kurloz offered his mouth to her bulge; it sought out the wet orifice, poking around until it slid over his lips.

“Kurloz,” she murmured. A flash of violet light appeared behind her eyes, urging her like wires twined around her limbs to thrust her hips forward.

“Mm,” he moaned. The vibration rolled up her bulge. He tugged her out of his mouth with a long, slow slurp. “Tasty little greenblood. I would’ve liked to have one of you in my harem back on Alternia.”

Meulin shuddered. His tongue returned to her nook, parting her folds with small, teasing flicks. Slicking up her lips and caressing her walls, he delved into her. While she tugged his horns, bringing him closer, his claws sunk into the meat of her thighs. She gyrated her hips against his mouth, rumblespheres bouncing. As he sucked on her flesh, each wet smack had Meulin squirming. He hummed, cleaning up the genetic material dripping from her slit.

“Delicious girl,” he growled.

He said something else, lips moving too softly for her to read.

“What was that,” she asked.

Tongue and lips returned to her bulge, ignoring her question. He swallowed her to the root before pulling off with a slurp. And again. And again. Meulin whined, struggling to work her hips. His hands, the size of shovel blades, held her fast.

He returned to her nook. Fluid smeared his paint, leaving a mess of grey-green slobber running down his chin.

“I can’t make up my mind. Which is sweeter: your nook or your bulge?” He raised and dropped her, over and over until every movement brought her every nerve in contact with his tongue.

Purple haze crowded her thoughts.

 _Now tell me_ , Kurloz’s voice growled in her mind, _did you miss my mouth?_

“Yes,” she sighed. Her voice echoed off the ceiling. She angled her hips, helping him chase that sweet spot deep inside her. “Kurloz…”

When she burst, he scream bounced off of the marble. Distantly she sensed the vibrations as they rippled through the temple. Her fluids ran down Kurloz’s cheeks and chin, rolling down his neck, staining his clothes while he lapped up what remained on her thighs. Meulin chirped as he lifted her down from his shoulders.

“Oh, Kurloz,” Meulin said, stretching her sore back. She raised her hands. _That’s making it into my next fanfiction for sure._

He pressed his mouth to her ear and growled. The vibration tickled her flesh. Meulin squirmed, giggling.

In the buzz of her afterglow, her eyes fluttered closed.

“There’s something I’ve been purrious about. Did you ever meet the Disciple on Alternia,” she asked.

The lips caressing her ear slid down her neck. She rolled over to bury her face in his chest but found only empty air. The arms cradling her turned soft and cottony. Meulin blinked.

She found snuggle planes wrapped around her. She excavated herself.

Outside her cocoon of blankets, she sat curled up on her pile amidst a collection of snack wrappers in another memory of her room. Threads of sunlight peeped out through the blackout curtains over the windows. A Troll I Love Luucey marathon rolled across the television screen.

“Kurloz?”

A flash of purple echoed through her mind, then faded into nothing. Meulin hauled herself off the couch.

Two thin arms wrapped around her from behind. A closed-lipped kiss pressed against her shoulder. Kurloz raised his hands in front of her face.

 _Sweet dreams?_ He signed.

Meulin blushed. _Yes_.

He plopped down beside her. Meulin nestled against him, smelling in his skin the same scent of incense and paint that clung to every Kurloz she knew.

 _Was I there,_ he asked.

_How did you guess?_

Grinning, he shrugged. _What sort of delightful mischief was I orchestrating in your dream?_

 _I’m not sure._ Meulin wracked her brain, calling up ghost sensation of something soft and wet trailing up the inside of her thigh. Beyond that she drew a blank. _I can’t really remember. It was definitely a good dream, though._

 _Dreams, man. Who can even fathom how they work?_ He snuggled her close. _Only Messiahs know. But you’re feeling sweet now I bet._

Meulin blinked.

Kurloz pressed a dry, scratchy kiss to her neck. Meulin frowned at the stitches brushing over her skin. The threads left a tingling path.

“Kurloz.” Meulin flexed her fingers before signing. _I like you how you are, you know? I don’t know if I’ve ever told you that_

Kurloz scratched her behind her ear right where she liked it, smiling that empty smile. _Of course. Right back at ya, kittysis._


End file.
